Not Dead Yet

American voice he recognized from their conversation on Monday. The man had been serious and to the point then, and was the same now. ‘Sir, it’s Detective Myman, from the LAPD.’
    ‘Good to hear from you, how are you?’
    ‘We’re doing fine,’ the American said. ‘We got a piece of good news for you. We have a suspect in custody for the murder of Marla Henson, assistant to Gaia Lafayette.’
    Grace’s spirits soared. ‘You do? Fantastic!’
    ‘I thought you should know right away, so you can maybe lighten up on your protection of her.’
    ‘How certain are you this is the right person?’
    ‘Oh, he’s the perp, no question about that. Got the gun in his house that matches up with the ballistics, got his computer with the two emails he sent on it, and there’s a whole stack of newspaper cuttings about Gaia in his den with some damned strange wording and symbols written all over them. He’s a screwball, but he’s pretty much admitted it.’
    ‘What was his motive? He just hated her?’
    ‘He’s got a woman he lives with, she was kind of a bit part actress some years back. Plenty of them in this city. She waits tables in a small place in Santa Monica. Seems like he thought it was unfair Gaia got the part and she didn’t, so he kind of figured in his dumbass mashed-up brain that if he eliminated Gaia, his girl would get the part instead.’
    ‘This is very good news that you’ve got him,’ Grace said.
    ‘I’ll let you have any more information as the situation develops.’
    ‘I’d appreciate that.’
    ‘You got it.’

64
    ‘Who’s your fat friend?’
    Crouched at the bottom of the steps, staring warily around him, as well as constantly looking up, Drayton Wheeler heard the woman’s voice with relief. The first guided tour of the day. It was his cue.
    He had spent much of the night prowling around, avoiding the guards, exploring up in the roof spaces. When he had tried to sleep in one, it had been impossible, with images of being caught invading his mind and the sound of pelting rain drumming on the copper roof above him.
    He had found the perfect hideout at the top of the building. Well, so long as you didn’t mind an icy draught and the constant patter and scratching sounds of rats. The creaking of floorboards, like the whole place was haunted with a thousand ghosts. Not that that mattered. He just hoped to hell there were ghosts, because in that case he’d be one soon and, boy, did he have a few scores to settle when he came back. Before dawn, he’d returned to the quiet of his basement lair.
    He scrambled silently up the stairs and listened.
    ‘He did indeed say that to the king. You see, Beau Brummell was a very well known figure – a real Regency dandy.’
    Drayton watched the attentive audience who were facing away from him, blocking the guide from view, their anoraks and mackintoshes dripping water. He slid the bolt, opened the gate, slipped through, and closed it behind him, securing it again.
    ‘Well, they had a bit of a falling out. Beau Brummell, Lord Alvanley, Henry Mildmay and Henry Pierrepoint were considered the prime movers…’
    He eased his way around the back of them, moving so slowly he was barely noticed. On the far side was a uniformed guard, but he was looking down at his phone, texting. Pulling his baseballcap low over his face, Drayton Wheeler followed the exit signs, which took him through the gift shop. But there was nothing in here for him. One of the many liberating things about dying, he thought, was that you didn’t need to waste money buying souvenirs.
    He stepped outside into the pelting rain. Smelled the aroma of wet, recently mown grass, breathed in the salty tang of the air. It was 10.20 a.m., Friday, 10 June. He felt great. He’d never felt better or happier in his life! Maybe it was the drugs he was on, or maybe it was just the fact that in six months, give or take, he’d be out of here. He didn’t care, he felt liberated.
    And he had a shopping list!

65
    It didn’t take much persuasion for Roy Grace to accept an invitation to morning coffee with Gaia in her suite at The Grand, to discuss the latest development. He actually had butterflies in his stomach when he arrived, a few minutes before 10.30. He was never normally nervous in his work – even in the most dangerous situations his brain was always focused on the task ahead. But he had to admit to himself he had the collywobbles now.
    He had encountered a few famous people in the